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Trotmobile Blues

When I woke up on the beach a few days ago, even though I'm in my late teens, it was as though I had just been born. I guess Amnesia has that effect on people. I had somehow washed up on the beach after the shipwreck. What was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes? A beautiful girl... collecting herbs for her sick mother... she just happened to be a singer, and single. The whole thing has been just a bit too perfect - I wonder if I'm still unconscious on the beach, dreaming?

Not too long after that I found an abandoned Trotmobile, one of those walking cars that are popular these days. The people of this land have a real artistic flair for invention. I've seen all sorts of incredible arm attachments for trot mobiles - swords, shields, claws, clubs, buzz-saws, cannons, flame throwers - completely modular and attachable to either side of the torso. The legs, back, windshield, and grill were also replaceable. It was a real thing of a beauty, the way one can have radically different looking Trotmobiles.

But the real elegance of the situation was to be found in the environment I found myself in. The land, wide open and spacious, consisted of plains, deserts, farmlands, forests, and more. There I was really free to push the limits of my Trotmobile, and there were always some bandits driving some zany contraption that were ready to test me. In the cities, all I could do was choose a destination parking lot and I would obey the traffic laws to get there. Although the cities were fascinating to explore on foot, with many nooks and crannies, different phases of day determining who and how many cars and Trotmobiles are on the streets or people on the side walks. The level of freedom I was given was incredible - never was I forced to do a thing.

So great was the freedom granted by my amnesia that I could have been anything. A good guy, a villain. A band member, or somebody who wants nothing to do with them. Was I the son of a baker, skilled, and conscientious? Not neccessarily - considering I had been given a new start on that beach a few days ago, I could have been anything. I really can't tell my story, not only because it would ruin the surprise, but because the interpretation is bound to vary for others.

Well, enough introspection. Things to do, people to see. Rival Trotmobiles to explode. It's a good age to be a part of.


So anyway, SteamBot Chronicles, check it out. Very awkward trying to write a story for it because the designers have outdone themselves in providing a fairly open-ended experience.

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